


Barcadia

by Saesama



Series: 28xFirst Kiss Combo [16]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, Barcade, F/M, First Kiss, Jake that's not how confessions are supposed to go, arcade games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saesama/pseuds/Saesama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like you <i>meant</i> to start questioning Jake and his motivations over an arcade game, but when he leaves himself open like that, you really can't help it. It's probably inherited</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barcadia

Barcades are seriously the best thing ever.

Hot babes and yummy drinks and _games_. Wall-to-wall arcade booths, upstairs and down, old classics and new classics and yeah. Hell fucking yeah this is the greatest bar ever.

Even better that the bartender seriously lays on the love for designated drivers and keeps your pop topped off all night. What a pal. You're stone-cold sober (three months and running, a new record) and you don't even feel like sneaking sips of Jake's overly fruity drinkamabob when he climbs onto the DDR platform. 

Jake is the whole reason for this. He'd never been actually drunk - or in a bar- before, and he asked you to mother-hen him for the night. Totes okay by you. Watch Jake playing DDR in shorts all night? Damn straight totes okay by you.

Jake leans against the Dig Dug cabinet while you pelt digital baddies with digital bullets in Area 51 and _god-fucking-!_ You stick the stupid hokey fake gun back in its stupid hokey fake holster and it's very mature for you to stick your tongue out at the screen, you're sure. A warm hand claps down on your shoulder and Jake laughs from behind you. "Shall I inform your mom of your untimely alien demise via text or shall I wait until we're face to face?"

"Jerkface." You throw him a grin over your shoulder. "You better wait face-to-face, and there better be much wailing and gnashing of gnashers or Imma haunt all your asses."

Jake laughs again, his hand lingering just a little too long and his chest just a little too close and whoa, back down boy, you may swoon. It would serve him right and whoops, there goes his hand, snatched back like he's burnt. Fuckity. Why can't things be as easy as they were when you all were kids and engaged in big ol' feelscuddles, right up until you started chasing Dirk and Jane started chasing Jake and the boys chased each other and fuck sexual tension, okay?

Jake sips noisily at his drink - only his second, and they were mostly fruit juice instead of ninja ass-kickers masquerading as candy - and gestured at the screen. "You almost had the high score that time," he says. "Sure you don't want to give it another round?"

"Pft, nope, your turn," you declare. You yank both hokey guns out of their hokey holsters. "Let's see some of that sweet Jake English dual wielding bullshit. Wouldn't be a good arcade trip without it, you know?"

Jake snorts and sets down his drink in one of the little cup-holders bolted to the side of the machine. "I'd hate to disappoint a lady," he says, all patented English charm. _Down, boy._ "Even if the old liquid courage isn't for the strength to face my Gramma after I beat her high score on this scrap-heap."

"It's seriously your Gramma's score?" you ask, peering at the screen. JBE, right at the top. Huh. "So, what _is_ the liquid courage for?"

Oh ho ho, you're on to something here. Jake ducks his head a bit and his ears go red, _interesting_. "Er. Nothing all that important, I assure you," he says, which does fuck-all of dropping your interest; you're on a scent now, funny, you thought this was just about him staying safe when he got drunk. You raise a brow at him and don't say anything, fully aware of how effective black magic silent treatment is. "Um, well." 

He gets your hand on your hip and a bit of a lean-in for his splutters, your eyebrows high enough to make first contact. "Jake," you say, patron saint of patience right here. "What's a highfalutin adventurer like you need liquid courage for?"

Jake's eyes drop kind-of-obviously to your mouth when you speak, then he looks you in the eye again, helpless. No sympathy from you, just a whole mess of curiosity. "I." Very good, Jake, one word down, how many to go? He swallows, and his shoulders slump a little in defeat. "For this," he says, in the exact tone someone says 'here goes nothing' in before they jump out of a plane. 

Then he kisses you.

You're straight-up flabbergasted.

It's brief, only a peck before he pulls back and eyes you warily. A tiny part of you is in full what-the-fuck mode. A significantly larger part of you seems to just be yelling 'YOOOOOO'. The rest of your poor brain speaks up with 'You know, only two drinks isn't far enough in to blame it on the booze."

Jake looks _horrified_. "Dash my fucking _wig,_ " he moans, backing away from you. "Rox, I'm so sorry, I'm a damn nincompoop, shot this right into the brown. I'll go now, I can get a cab, I-"

The 'YOOOOOO' part of your grey matter sits the fuck up and starts paying attention again. "Oh no you don't," you say, shoving the guns into his hands. "You've got a high-score to beat, and then we are gonna sit down and talk this over, you goober." Jake gawps at you, then the guns, then you again. You take pity on the poor boy and go up on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. "You _better_ beat it, too."

That gets him back on track. "Right," he says firmly. He goes for the finger-spin thing and fucks it up because there's cords attached to the guns and you giggle and plunk a few quarters into the cabinet.

When he puts in his initials in the slot above his Gramma, you kiss him again.


End file.
